


Your Last Hour

by Saladscream



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, Early Days, M/M, POV Second Person, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-06 03:42:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5401664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saladscream/pseuds/Saladscream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daniel, trapped under the clichéd collapsed temple, awaits rescue or death. Whichever comes first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Last Hour

**Author's Note:**

> This was written a long time ago (8 years, if anyone's counting): it used to be hosted at Pepesplace, back then. It's an early season Daniel, still young and fresh and maybe a little insecure. If you don't like that, you might not want to read this. Also, it's written in 2nd person POV, which is a little unusual to read but interesting to write.
> 
> A million thanks to Pepe for her insightful beta and her encouragements.

Amazingly enough, the first thought that flashes through your brain is, “Jack’s gonna be mad at me”. And that’s pretty ridiculous considering your present situation.

The tons of rubble eventually stop crumbling around you: it’s pitch black, you’re half-lying under that sturdy altar, praying that it won’t collapse in its turn, you’re trying very hard to breathe through the thick foul dust saturating the air, and your left foot seems to be stuck outside of your makeshift shelter. The thundering chaos that tore the place apart still echoes in your ears – or maybe it’s just your blood pounding. It feels like your heart’s going to explode out of your chest. Your head is crammed with deafening sensations and you’re desperately fighting to suck enough dirty oxygen into your lungs to keep from passing out: you’re so afraid you’re going to pass out… and never wake up. You’re probably injured but you can’t really feel a thing right now – which is just as well.

Still, the only coherent thought you can form is: “Jack’s gonna be pissed.” In fact it’s the only reassuring thought you can hold on to, at the moment. You know somehow that Jack’s gonna blow a gasket when he realises you were inside that temple when it disintegrated.

The dust seems to settle a bit and the dull roaring sound in your ears subsides to a tolerable level. Everything’s slowly calming down, and for some reason, you’re even more afraid of the approaching silence. Because once you don’t have the excuse of the tumult cramping your thoughts any more… What are you going to do?

What would Jack do?

You start checking yourself for injuries in complete darkness; you lie on your side as comfortably as possible with your foot still trapped under God knows what, and you start running your hands over every vital part of your anatomy. Your head seems all right – just a little graze and a bump on your forehead – and you’ve still got your glasses on, which makes you smile a little. You take them off and store them away in your jacket. Next you check your abdomen, arms, legs; yes, everything’s there. Well except for your left foot, but it’s just stuck, not… severed.

So you’re fine, really! You feel like grinning in the dark. You’re one lucky son of a bitch! That’s exactly what Jack will say when he finds you. You can’t wait to hear him say that.

You blindly grab for your radio and try to call your team mates. Your voice sounds rough and hoarse and you can’t help coughing and wheezing, choking on the particles of dirt still floating around. You call. And all you get is a muffled burst of static. You try again. And again. And no one answers. Fear seeps into you but you fight it with reasonable arguments; you’ll try again in a couple of minutes – leave them some time to regroup and start searching for you. They’re there – somewhere – they’ll get to you.

You really wish you could do something to get yourself out of this shit on your own – you hate it when your team mates have to come to your rescue – but let’s be honest here: there’s not much you can do. You know better than to start dislodging stones and stuff from the ‘walls’ of your shelter to dig yourself out of this mess. You shuffle a bit and pull out that sharp piece of rock from under your butt though; you might as well make yourself comfortable while waiting for help.

And so you start waiting.

In complete darkness.

You wait, and you listen.

There are weird unidentifiable sounds all around you: discrete creaks, low rumbles. There’s a cascade of little stones and fine debris somewhere not far; the skittering sound reminds you of running water and rain sticks, but it’s not as soothing. You know what that sound means: the whole ‘structure’ is now so unstable it might start collapsing again any minute. Better not sneeze. You snort though.

You wriggle a bit, trying to find the best position, and pull down your shirt and jacket where they’ve ridden up your back. Now you can almost feel all the bruises forming; Janet’s going to have a field day. Which leads you to wonder what your foot will look like once they’ve pulled it free. You try to move it a bit… Nope, definitely stuck. It doesn’t hurt that bad though, just a dull pulsing ache. It’s okay. Bearable. They’ll soon be here, anyway.

You just have to wait.

You sigh, loudly. The way the sound echoes gives you a fair idea of the size of your safe little bubble. Your hands reach out to touch the ‘walls’ but you really can’t make out what they must look like. It’s all a confusion of jarred textures: plaster, marble, wood and stone. You wonder what happened to your flashlight and start feeling around for it. Nope. It’s a shame, it was a good flashlight. Hey, but you suddenly remember that little penlight you always keep in the pocket of your BDU’s! You fumble around, groaning; there are so many damn pockets in these things. You finally get your hands on it, and pull it out.

Let there be…

…light.

Oh God.

You switch it off straight-away.

Your throat tightens and your heart starts hammering in your chest again. Okay, calm down. It probably looks worse than it is. And obviously you only got a brief vision of your ‘safe’ haven… but you don’t dare switch the light on again. You’re not ready for that yet.

You just saw how small and precarious your shelter really is. There’s a great big ugly crack zigzagging across your ‘roof’. It’s really nasty-looking; you can’t help a shiver. And the place is so cramped – way smaller than you’d imagined. ‘Cosy,’ Jack would say. Yeah, he would go for sarcasm. He always knows what to say to make you feel better in this kind of situation. Hell, you’ve been channelling him for inappropriate sarcasm occasionally.

Right. So now that you know how cosy you are, what are you going to do?

You decide to fumble in your pockets some more, to see what you’ve got in there. Jack taught you that: “What do we have – What do we need”. So you have… two power bars, a little notepad, a tiny pencil, a few chewing-gums, a bandana, a Swiss army knife, two water-purifying tablets, your anti-histamines, a few painkillers, not to mention all the usual paraphernalia which would prove quite useless given the circumstances. You wish you’d kept your backpack with you instead of putting it down to retrieve your camcorder; you could’ve done with your full equipment. Oh and you still have your canteen, even though it’s half-empty.

Half-full. It’s half-full.

And what do you need? Help. Your team mates. Jack.

You reach for your radio and call. And call. And call again. And no one answers. Where are they? You try to think. Where was everyone when the building collapsed? Sam and Teal’c had gone to retrieve the MALP that’s stuck in the sand, one click from here. Jack had made a detour with you to have a quick look around this temple. ‘Around’ being the operative word here. You went inside. And now look at the mess you’re in. Jack’s gonna have your hide – when he finds you.

You wonder how long it’s going to take them to reach you. It’s not a big building – it’s probably an even smaller pile of rubble – so they shouldn’t have too many problems locating you. Actually the question is more how are they going to get you out of here. Lucky for you SG1 can count on two vehicles for this mission: the MALP that’s sanded, and the FRED you brought through the gate to pull it out. The situation could be worse. In any case, you’re probably here for a little while – under that heavy slab of marble supporting the tons of debris stacked over your head. That cracked heavy slab of marble.

And there’re all these disquieting sounds: rocks grating, sliding, splitting against each other under the pressure, and that damn cascade of trickling gravel. It’s wearing on your nerves. You zip up your jacket and hug yourself; it’s getting cold. You’re getting cramps in your legs and you can feel the dull ache in your foot slowly upgrade to full-blown pain from your left knee down.

You don’t know what to do with yourself. You hate being so helpless; it’s not like you.

You try to call on the radio again. Still no answer.

You know it’s useless, don’t you? You knew the first time you tried: radio waves can’t go through the walls of your prison. Yet you called. Several times. You lied to yourself – such a futile thing to do.

A shiver runs through you and something trickles down your cheek. You hold your hand to your face and your fingertips follow the wet trail up to your hairline. The graze is bleeding. Damn. A little slosh of water on the bandana and you press it to your forehead, mopping and cleaning the wound blindly; then you fold the fabric and tie it around your head. That should do the trick.

And now you’re restless so you sit up a bit more. You decide to switch the light on again, and this time it’s not so bad. The crack’s still there but… well, it’s been there for an hour now and it hasn’t moved since, so it’s okay. You take a look around, then concentrate on where your ankle disappears under a shapeless mass of gravel and stones. One big block seems to be taking most of the weight off your foot, and, Jesus, you don’t want to imagine what would’ve happened if that block hadn’t been there. You’re stuck though, and it’s really beginning to hurt like a bitch!

You turn the light off.

Fuck!

What a stupid thing to do, entering that damn ruin. When will you learn?!

You kick at the rocks trapping your leg, and that’s an even stupider thing to do: it increases your headache. Yes, because now you’ve got a headache, and not just where you’ve gashed your forehead. It’s a nasty kind of headache; the kind that creeps up on you slowly and unawares, but once settled, makes every waking minute hell on earth – you start to worry about concussion. You won’t use the painkillers yet, you’ll take them as a last resort: when you really can’t stand the pain anymore.

You lie back down, try to calm down too. Mustn’t get all worked up; mustn’t lose your nerves. You just have to relax a bit and wait. They’ll come.

You close your eyes. Something lulls you.

*

NO!

Christ!

You wake up with a start, gasping and spluttering. Oh, Jesus, you almost fell asleep!!

DON’T!

Your heart’s racing and you can’t seem to catch your breath. In fact you can’t seem to breathe at all. And that’s when realisation dawns: your air supply is limited. Of course, why didn’t you think about it before?! Christ, you’re going to suffocate in this fucking hole!

It wrenches a whimper from you. You know you’re panicking, and you know you shouldn’t; it shortens your life expectancy. But what can you do? You’re going to die in here!

STOP!

Don’t.

Don’t lose it. He’ll come.

You’re alive; you’re safe in here; there has to be some sort of connection with the outside, or you would’ve run out of air before now; you’ve got a headache, but it’s not like you’re not familiar with those. It’ll be all right.

Your heartbeat slows down to a normal pulse. There, see? Everything’s all right. Don’t panic like that.

You heave a sigh. Yeah, everything’s okay. Strangely enough, the adrenaline rush has calmed your headache for a bit. You guess every cloud has a silver lining. You take a gulp from your canteen and decide not to lie down completely anymore, you never know.

And you wait.

Something feels strange, but you don’t know exactly what; it bothers you. What is it? You switch the light on and take a cursory look around you: nothing’s changed. You switch the light off again. What is it? You listen intently. You hear yourself breathe, and … nothing else. That’s what it is. You can’t hear a sound anymore. No rocks crunching against each other, no cascade of dirt to keep you company. Nothing. Thick deafening silence.

You wriggle a bit just to hear your clothes rustle and you hug yourself again.

What are you going to do?

Your team mates will find you; there are enough doohickeys on the MALP to help them locate you. You just have to sit tight and make sure you don’t do anything that could cause the whole thing to further collapse.

You have to while away the hours somehow. Yet you can’t exactly do anything. You can’t see a thing, first of all, so you can’t read or write. Your foot is stuck, so you can’t move. What’s left? You could sing... But it would probably bring down the whole pile of rubble on top of your head. So it’s just you and your brain, eh? Thinking is the only activity you can safely engage in right now.

Okay.

Think.

What about?

Christ! And they call you a genius.

Well they’re wrong; a genius wouldn’t have got himself in such a mess in the first place. And a genius wouldn’t have panic attacks. And a genius would probably get himself out of here on his own. You’re not a genius, you’re not a soldier; you’re just… you’re just a Space-monkey, aren’t you? The thought makes you smile. Trust Jack to say the right thing to make you feel better. Even when he’s not here.

Oh yeah… you’d never felt better: that day, when he took you in his arms and hugged you in front of everyone, you felt on top of the world. He hugged you and buried his face in your neck and pressed a warm kiss there. You thought your spine was going to melt. And that smile! You’d never seen him smile like that before: so elated, so open, so carefree, so fucking happy to see you! It was incredible: you couldn’t remember ever being happier in your life. You’d never realised he felt so much for you.

Yet, even after that, you never told him. How important he was to you; how much you relied on him; how much you loved him.

How much you’re in love with him.

You never dared.

And isn’t that a lousy cliché? The fear of dying bringing up repressed feelings and regrets to the fore and encouraging people to make good resolutions? But that’s obviously what’s happening.

You love Jack, but you never had the guts to tell him. You always avoided the issue, didn’t you? You always told yourself it wasn’t the right time; or not the right place; or not the right thing to do. You were so afraid of his reaction, so afraid he’d hate you for wanting him.

It was easier keeping your mouth shut, wasn’t it? Just staying close to him; laughing, working, fighting by his side – it kept you happy. You didn’t dare hope for better, so you kept a lid on your feelings, your desires, just so that you could stay with him, on his team; see him everyday; bask in the sun of his affection for you; savour all the small gestures. You craved it and it was supposed to be enough. In fact, to be honest, you accepted to forfeit any serious sexual relationship just to stay close to him. And look where you are now. Was it worth it?

You’ll die – today, or some other day – and he’ll never know.

You’ll die and you’ll never know. If you had a chance with him.

That’s sad and pathetic, and you know it! Jack’s your best friend and you know he’s not a homophobic asshole. So what stopped you? You know he would still have been your friend, you could’ve counted on that.

Yes, but…

It wouldn’t have been the same.

Because if you’d told him, you would’ve finally known for sure. And you wouldn’t have had any pretence of a hope anymore.

The reason you never told him was because it would have meant the death of your hopeful dreams and sweet delusions. Telling him and getting a response left no place for your coping fantasies.

So you kept quiet. Taking and treasuring all the crumbs you could get. Your stolen glances in the showers, his pats on your shoulders, the bantering, the bickering; it all fed that secret love of yours, it fed your fantasies. It was easy to give his actions some subtext – easy to imagine that he secretly loved you in return. Facing the facts and confronting him would have meant destroying all this. And you needed this to survive.

A noise breaks through your thoughts: you hear something slowly crack, then tear, then fall with a crash. You huddle as best you can as a thin shower of dirt and stones falls on you. And just for a second you think this is it.

But after a whole minute of screwing your eyes and your mouth shut and clenching every muscle you can think of, you realise you’re still alive, coughing and spluttering.

You’re still alive. Not quite dead yet. And you’re almost disappointed; you’d like it to be quick. At least that way you wouldn’t have the time to mull over your sorry excuse of a love life. Quick and easy. You’d like something to be quick and easy for once in your life.

And you suddenly think of your parents.

Mum and Dad. Who loved you so much. Who were so beautiful together.

That’s how they died.

All your life you’ve unwittingly followed their path. You shared their love of History and mankind; you studied hard and became an archaeologist, like they had; you tried to make a difference, like they had. And now you’re going to die like they did.

But they died together.

Mum and Dad – so beautiful and happy together.

That’s something you’ve always found somewhat comforting: they died together, doing something they loved. The only problem is that they left you behind – that’s something they’d never done before. They’d always taken you along with them, wherever they went: always together like all good real families.

Until that day.

They didn’t take you with them. They left you behind. You know it’s not their fault, but… it hurt to be left behind.

All alone.

“JAAACK!” the desperate hoarse yell that’s ripped out of your lungs stuns you. But you don’t want to be left behind. Not again. Please…

Please.

Christ.

You’re losing it! You’re going out of your mind in this rat-hole! You’re going insane.

Shut the fuck up, you idiot. Stop trembling like that.

But you can’t help yourself: you’re shaking like a leaf. It’s getting so cold down here. And your leg hurts so bad you can’t even really feel it anymore. And they’re not coming. He’s not coming. Is this where the journey ends for you? Are you really living your last hours?

You thought you’d see your whole life go by, or that kind of thing before dying. But it turns out you don’t; you’re just sitting here in the dark, thinking about all the insecure feelings you ever harboured. And you wish you’d been braver. You wish you’d reached out. Given it a try. You feel so stupid now. What did it matter? Now that you know what’s really important, like living and loving… Damn, here’s that cliché again.

You wish you’d confronted him. You wish you’d been totally honest with him: ‘I’m sorry I never told you, Jack, but I’m in love with you.’ Such simple words.

Such drastic consequences.

But since when did you recoil in front of potentially disastrous consequences? You always stood up for your convictions; you always fought for what you considered to be right. So why the double standard?

Because this is Jack. Because this is the single most important and precious thing in your life. Because his friendship has anchored you and made you stronger like nothing else ever has. Because you don’t want to lose the little you’ve got. Because you can’t bear the thought of him not loving you as much as you love him.

But what if it worked out? What if he took you in his arms and held you tight? What if he told you he loves you back? That he wants you just as badly as you want him?

You’d finally get you heart’s desire, and live happily ever after.

And even if he didn’t reciprocate the feelings. What if he took you in his arms and held you tight? What if he told you how sorry he is? How he wished he could feel the same, but only loves you as a brother, as his best friend?

You’d finally be honest with him, and he would be grateful for that.

And even if it turned out he was repelled. What if he took a step back and looked disgusted? What if he threw you a punch and called you a dirty little fag? Threw you out of his team and out of his life?

You’d finally know where you stand, and realise he never deserved your love.

So it’s a win-win situation really.

Really? Well, if it was so easy you would’ve already tried it, wouldn’t you?

No, life’s never that easy. The theory never agrees with the practice.

Too bad.

Through the fog of your muddled brain and the roar of blood in your ears, you faintly hear the rocks shifting, sliding, grinding around you. The friendly cascade of dirt is back, strong and uneven, trickling as cheerfully as ever. Is it for now? The Big Squash?

You open your eyes, even though you know it’s perfectly useless, and whaddya know, the gloom doesn’t look so dark anymore. Like someone switched on a light somewhere in the next room.

Maybe you’re hallucinating. There’s supposed to be a bright Light, isn’t there? You thought it would be brighter: this is a bit of a let down. Your eyes drift closed again.

Then you’re moving. Or rather, your right leg is moving – on its own. Infinitesimal jerks, like someone’s patting it and fondling it. Well, that’s a nice surprise. You always liked being touched, so it’s good to know that people can still touch you in Afterlife.

The air around you seems to be thrumming all of a sudden; delightful vibrations, soft and caressing, like your parents’ voices when they told a bedtime story. It’s a wonderful feeling, to be bathed in these low vibrations: it’s so soothing. You relax and let yourself drown in them.

Something bothers you though. Something you can’t quite put your finger on. It’s jarring on your newfound serenity, so you want to get rid of it. You try to focus. And that’s when you realise the vibrations are in fact sounds, and that these sounds are a mixture of harsh breathing and desperate calls.

Damn, someone needs help. You concentrate some more to emerge from your comfortable torpor. Someone needs help. Through the hiss in your ears, you listen.

“DANIEL! Will you fucking answer me?!”

It’s Jack. He’s angry; like you knew he would be. But he also sounds scared. Damn scared.

“Oh, God… please, Daniel, don’t do this to me.”

No, you won’t. Not when he asks you so pleadingly; you hate to hear him so desperate. You don’t want to make him unhappy. He came for you; he didn’t leave you behind.

You gather your strength, take a deep breath and open your eyes as much as you can.

“Wh’-took-ye-se-l’ng?” That incomprehensible croak must be yours.

“Daniel.” The whisper is so loving and broken – filled with aching relief.

Maybe you won’t die today.

Maybe you’ll take your chance.

 

 

***The End***


End file.
